


Don't Carry Me Too Far Away

by piggy09



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Brief mentions of canonical self-harm, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Peanut abuse, Spoilers through like episode 3, Standard Helena warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: Helena on a plane.</p>
<p>  <em>“Peanuts?” she asks, voice high.</em></p>
<p><em>You stare at her. Your grin shrinks back, your mouth forms a puzzled pout. What </em>about<em> peanuts?</em></p>
<p><em>“Yes, I’ll take some,” says the woman next to you. She is no longer shaking, but leaning a little towards the woman in the aisle. You think about this as the nice-dressed woman hands your companion several bright packets. Oh! </em>Oh<em>.</em></p>
<p><em>“Yes,” you blurt, your eyes wide. Is she going to take them away, because you didn’t ask quickly enough? “Yes, I will take some peanuts.” The woman nods. There is a plate on her chest that shines bright and says </em>Jane<em>. Jane, Jane, Jane. She piles many shiny packets into her arms and looks at you. You look back, almost vibrating. Peanuts!</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Carry Me Too Far Away

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://sharkodactyl.tumblr.com/post/58676634218) and its subsequent responses. Because we know Helena had to get from Europe to America somehow...

The imitations shook, when you killed them, as if in one final burst of defiance. _See, we are real girls_ , their eyes say, shaking and shaking. But there is no light in their eyes, and when they shake out their final sins they collapse like puppets with cut strings. They are a mockery of all that is human, and when you kill them Tomas says: good. When you have killed all of them, on every sort of foreign soil (their eyes are all the same, dead and glassy), he smiles and smiles and smiles. His teeth glint like a wolf’s. He says: your work is not done.

And then he puts you on a plane.

With a low groan, you remember that you are _on a plane_. No matter how much you try and lose yourself in thoughts of killing, the motion of this big metal bird rolls through your stomach and makes you forget yourself. You _hate_ this. Your groaning thrums in your chest, warps into a low animal sound. The woman next to you is thinking of turning (in the tension of her muscles and the slight widening of your eyes _this you know_ ), and you could stop her, you could break her neck—

The airplane woman walks through the space between people. She is dressed nicely. When she saw you shaking earlier, she offered you a drink that was sweet and bubbled in your mouth. You grin at her now. She smiles back, lips pressed tightly together. You like her a lot, this airplane woman.

“Peanuts?” she asks, voice high.

You stare at her. Your grin shrinks back, your mouth forms a puzzled pout. What _about_ peanuts?

“Yes, I’ll take some,” says the woman next to you. She is no longer shaking, but leaning a little towards the woman in the aisle. You think about this as the nice-dressed woman hands your companion several bright packets. Oh! _Oh_.

“Yes,” you blurt, your eyes wide. Is she going to take them away, because you didn’t ask quickly enough? “Yes, I will take some peanuts.” The woman nods. There is a plate on her chest that shines bright and says _Jane_. Jane, Jane, Jane. She piles many shiny packets into her arms and looks at you. You look back, almost vibrating. Peanuts!

“Um, would you mind putting your tray down?” Jane asks.

You do not _like_ the tray. It makes you feel trapped (like the cage) and you don’t (cage) like it (cage) much ( _cage_ ). But you pull it down anyways. She places the pile onto your tray and walks quickly away. You can’t help but look at them for a moment. So much food to eat in one sitting! God has rewarded you, for your work, for removing all those cheap imitations from His earth. What choice do you have, but to eat?

You reach for a packet. You start to tear open a packet.

…You cannot tear open the packet.

What sort of cruelty is this, to provide something so impossible to reach? You snarl at it, all your teeth bared in a sign of aggression. It says nothing but _HONEY ROASTED PEANUTS_. This angers you! You are going to obliterate this shining foil, you are going to leave it shattered on the ground like Janika, Aryanna (their names foreign, rolling around your mouth). Your feet pound-pound-pound on the seat in front of you as you fall upon the tiny thing, gnawing at it with your sharp teeth. With a pop, it relinquishes its prize to you. The peanuts glitter, and you stuff them in your mouth in one great handful before descending on the next packet. They are so sweet in your mouth. Oh, this was worth soaring in this great metal cage, so close to God your wings will burn. You croon to yourself around the mouthfuls of food, as discarded packets fall to the floor like all those sin-touched angels.

When you’ve finished, burping to yourself contentedly, you find yourself surrounded by absolute silence. The woman next to you stares at you with wide eyes, leaning so far back she is almost horizontal. A crowd has gathered in the aisles. Their eyes glitter – they are human to the core, they shine with their own light. You grin at them, to show you are no threat. They don’t grin back. Oh. You have done something wrong, and you are going to be punished for it. Almost without noticing, you shrink in on yourself. The plane’s thrumming in your chest feels very loud, suddenly, and the peanuts roil in your stomach. Are they going to hurt you?

With a few muffled “excuse me”s Jane pushes her way to the front of the crowd. Would she hurt you, too? Looking at her with wide eyes, you hurriedly scoop the foil packets into a large pile. See, you are no danger. See? Please see please please you can’t be put in another cage inside this one you will scream until your throat is raw and bloody, coughing blood on the ground like the German you are going to find. If they lock you up, how will you do God’s work?

“Honey,” says Jane, smoothing her hands down her skirt (you are not allowed skirts), “is everything alright? The man in front of you seemed pretty, um, concerned.”

He narrows his eyes at you. You turn and narrow yours back, and show your teeth for emphasis. He looks away. Good.

You turn back to the crowd in the walk-space and open your mouth to reply. But someone is replying for you.

“My apologies,” says Tomas, his voice smooth. Tomas! Tomas is here! He knows what to do, he will fix your mistakes, the way he always does. “It’s her first time flying, and she gets nervous.”

He looks at you coldly, after that. Oh, you are going to be beaten later, and your back stings. You shrink back farther into the seat.

“Look, are you traveling with her?” the woman next to you squawks. “Switch seats with me, then. For God’s sakes, she won’t stop _snarling_ at me.” Anger and fear swirl together in your stomach, and you curl your arms around it reassuringly. Your eyes flick-flick-flick. There is no safe space here. You are trapped. Oh, Tomas, help.

“Absolutely,” the man replies. “I’m sorry that she was an inconvenience to you. Apologize, Helena.”

You will _not_ apologize to this woman, and your face says so.

“ _Apologize_ ,” he growls, and his voice holds the metal of the cage and the power of the fist and absolute authority. You turn to the woman next to you. “I am sorry,” you say. “It is my first time in a plane. I am nervous.”

She softens slightly. “I hope you feel better,” she says, hurriedly scooping up her things and moving away from you. You don’t think she hopes that very much at all.

Tomas slides in next to you and nods his head at the people hovering over you. They seem pleased with your apology. They leave for their seats, and Tomas reaches over to crush your shoulder in his hand. You whimper, but quickly stop it.

“I told you not to bring attention to yourself,” he hisses. “Don’t you know that ordinary people do not understand God’s messengers?”

Your tongue fumbles around another apology, the words shredded in your mouth. Your shoulder hurts. Your back hurts. You can feel the sky, beneath you, and you never asked for this when you carved wings on your back. But to tell Tomas this would be blasphemy. He is still talking, anyway.

“Take the time to review your purpose,” he growls, thumping papers onto your tray. The peanut wrappers stir, and you see the glimmer of sugar still inside them. With a grunt, you scoop them into your arms to begin licking it off – but Tomas slaps them out of your hand and into the bag of another pretty woman walking down the row. “No more foolish behavior,” Tomas snarls, and sits in his seat. Watching.

No choice, now, but to look at the papers. Kat-ja Ob-in-ger, hair an unnatural red. Devil’s red. Your feet thump-thump against the seat as you consider it, the dead eyes. Yes, this is another job for you. Another sin to cleanse. You reach out to touch the glossy face, frozen on paper. You stroke it, silently. You are doing them a kindness. You are the light.

A glance snuck at Tomas reveals that he is asleep. You glance the other way, at the window. It was closed when you left the ground (oh you miss the ground), and you scrabble to slide it open. Outside it is so blue. You press your face against the glass frantically, so close that you can barely see at all. It is so blue! The clouds are fluffy, like sheep. Maybe if you look closely, you will see an angel.

All you can see is your own face reflected in the glass. But you are angel enough.

**Author's Note:**

> But my heart keeps calling me backwards  
> As I get on the 707  
> Ridin' high, I got tears in my eyes  
> You know you got to go through hell before you get to heaven  
> -"Jet Airliner," by Steve Miller Band


End file.
